Luki Vasquez and his still newlywed husband are back home after pulling off a harrowing desert rescue of their teenage nephew Jackie. But the events of the last couple of years have begun to catch up with Luki—loving Sonny James and letting Sonny love him back has left gaps in his emotional armor. In the gunfight that secured Jackie’s rescue, Luki’s bullet killed a young guard, an innocent boy in Luki’s mind. In the grip of PTSD, memories, flashbacks, and nightmares consume him, and he falls into deep, almost vegetative depression.

Sonny devotes his days to helping Luki, putting his own career on hold, even passing up a European tour of galleries and schools—an opportunity that might never come again. But when Luki’s parasomnia turns his nightmares into real-world terror, it breaks the gridlock. Sonny realizes what he’s doing isn’t working, and he says yes to Europe. Enter Harold Breslin, a dangerously intelligent artist’s promoter and embezzler whose obsessive desire for Sonny is exceeded only by his narcissism. When Harold’s plan for Sonny turns poisonous, Luki must break free of PTSD and get to France fit and ready in time to save his husband’s life.

Because at times he’d still been in a lot of pain, and a few times he’d had plenty of—too much—pain medication, and then there had also been those other, weirder times that Sonny couldn’t explain. Luki would just check out right in the middle of a conversation, stay completely blank until he’d suddenly say, “He was just a kid,” or, “He had the greenest eyes.” Those times never lasted long, though, and Luki’s pain got less and less, and Sonny just didn’t expect the thing that happened to Luki not long after they got home. It was almost like Luki… died inside. Like whatever made him Luki drained off and left Sonny a handsome and heart-wrenching Luki-like shell.

It didn’t really matter that Sonny knew psychological trauma did this to others: soldiers, agents of the law, people who relied on violent skills to guard the world against violence. This development in Luki astounded Sonny. The very idea that Luki Mililani Vasquez could be so overcome, so incapacitated that people felt the need to watch over him, medicate him, counsel him, be careful of him, for God’s sake. It was like weaving a wall-sized tapestry, spending hours with it and knowing every warp and weft intimately, and then one day discovering the image had changed from day to night, ocean to desert, rock to dust. How could it make sense?

But Sonny also knew immediately that he didn’t have the power to bring the real Luki back. So he lived his daily life with Luki always in his field of vision—at least figuratively—and he did what he could to help him find what was real from one moment to the next and get where he needed to go when he needed to be there. Theoretically, that wouldn’t be difficult. But Luki, even broken as he was, always wanted to do things Luki’s way.

Luki was supposed to go to psychotherapy, as he was obviously having trouble processing the fact that he’d shot and killed that young guard, whom he insisted on remembering as an innocent kid, completely discounting the indisputable fact that if he hadn’t shot first the green-eyed kid would have killed him. Luki still had the badge he’d so sneakily reenlisted for behind Sonny’s back before they even knew Luki’s teenage nephew Jackie was missing. Sonny hadn’t wanted him to do that, but the agency shield had come in handy when it turned out Jackie’s sicko kidnapper also happened to be a large scale moonshiner. Who would have imagined such a coincidence!

Sonny still harbored no great fondness for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, but he had to admit his pleasant surprise. The powers that be at ATF wouldn’t let Luki resign, not until they saw to it that he took advantage of every resource they could throw at him that might make him well. What was happening to Luki wasn’t unusual, Sonny had learned. Agents of the law sometimes killed people and—if they were good people themselves—it messed with their heads. Or hearts, perhaps. So agencies like ATF had a response in place involving professional care, and they enforced—by means Sonny didn’t understand—their directive that the sick must be treated. But Luki seemed to take the Bureau’s no, you can’t resign at face value.

So Luki was supposed to go to the therapist, and he was supposed to take the pills the agency psychiatrist prescribed to go with the counseling. One for depression. One for anxiety. One for nightmares. Sonny thought Luki might have tried them all, but he knew for sure that after the first few days he wasn’t taking any of them, and he certainly wasn’t meeting with the psychotherapist twice each week. Not even once a month. For the most part, what Luki did was lie in bed, sometimes sleeping but sometimes not. And when Luki wasn’t sleeping, he spent a great deal of time staring, and sometimes patting Bear, who looked annoyed but long-suffering. Luki would turn the TV on and not watch it. He’d read but never turn the page—wouldn’t even remember to put on his reading glasses. He would come to the dinner table and not eat. Some days he lay in bed, got up to piss, maybe drank some water, asked, “What time is it,” and went back to bed no matter the answer.

Thank goodness for physical therapy; if not for that scheduled activity, the physical demand, and maybe exactly the right kind of guy for a therapist, Luki might never have left his bed except to go to the toilet or the couch. Sonny couldn’t begin to explain what was different about PT—why Luki would do that but nothing else. Whatever the explanation, on PT days, Luki showered and dressed, actually had coffee and breakfast, and with Sonny behind the wheel of the Mustang, rode to Sequim to the clinic. He went in and listened to instructions and tested his muscles to their full capacity, and sometimes stayed dressed and up until dark.

He went to PT three times a week, thanks to Sonny, who had begged Luki’s doctor to make that a must, because Luki wouldn’t go to psych therapy, and an extra PT session was better than no extra session at all. His physiotherapist, Val, was a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and himself suffered PTSD—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a fitting name for the condition. Sonny didn’t think Luki’s assignment to Val’s caseload was an accident. Luki didn’t talk to Val, of course. He didn’t talk to anyone. Not even Sonny or his uncle Kaholo. No one. Well, no one except Bear. But when Val talked to Luki, which wasn’t a whole lot, Luki seemed to listen.

And though Luki’s mind, heart, and soul gave no sign they might be healing, his body regained its fitness. Sonny had never truly realized just how monster strong Luki’s deceptively compact muscles had been. He’d never tried to quantify it in any way until he watched Luki squat well over three hundred pounds before the thigh muscles were even firmly healed. Rather than having lost any strength, by the time Val had worked with Luki for five or six weeks, Sonny thought Luki was probably stronger than ever.

And he was utterly beautiful. And now, having backed the Mustang out and pulled it around to the house, Sonny sat with the engine idling, watching Luki, the only real lover he’d ever had or ever wanted, approach the car with the same sure stride and icy gaze he’d always had. He wanted him. He lusted after every inch of soon-to-be sweaty skin and well-trained muscle. Wanted to drag his tongue up every salty valley, mouth every rise and mound, coax him hard, and suck the cream from his cock.

But—even on PT days—Luki wasn’t interested. He rolled over and went to sleep before Sonny could so much as kiss him good night. Or if Sonny reached out to hold Luki, or tried to walk into the shelter of his arms, his blessed arms, he gave Sonny a quick squeeze and platonic peck on the cheek. And Sonny really, really needed holding.

“Give it a little time,” Kaholo had said on the phone.

Sonny knew he might be right—they’d only been home three and a half weeks.

“Don’t give up on ’im, Sonny.”

That pissed Sonny off. He was the one who was there every day, trying to keep their life in some kind of order, trying to outlast Luki’s trouble. “I’m not,” he said, sounding more vexed than he’d intended. “I won’t, I can’t. But I don’t know what to do. I can’t just wait for him to get over this when he isn’t even trying.”

“Well… I know a little bit about this, about how it might be for him. Did Luki ever mention to you about the time I was in Vietnam? What my job was?”

“You were a sharpshooter, a sniper.”

“That’s right. So of course you know that the only job a sniper has is to kill the man in his sights. The thing is, even back then we had good optics, good enough to get a really good look at the human being on the other end. For me, well, I’m fairly practical.”

Sonny smiled at the understated description, even though Kaholo couldn’t see the expression a thousand miles away in Nebraska.

“So,” Kaholo went on, “I figured a job is a responsibility, and a soldier’s gotta take the job he’s given, and in a war some jobs are less… desirable than others. Time and again I’d get my mark in my sights and shoot him dead. In my mind I said words for the stranger—which is just my way—but then I forgot him. But one time it turned out different.

“My platoon was hidden, see, in a gulch, thick vegetation down there, and we knew we couldn’t be seen from camp, even though it wasn’t far. But we had to move—we had to join up with the rest of our company. We figured out a way to go—we wouldn’t be in their line of sight if we crossed the stream and headed up behind a rise. But every time we made a move to get out, the enemy knew, and they hit us hard and we’d go running back to hide. We couldn’t figure out how they knew our movements. Finally, my lieutenant spotted motion on a tiny ledge high up on a rock face perpendicular to the cleft we’d taken cover in.

“‘That’s where they’re getting the news from, Hula Boy,’ he said. ‘That’s your mark.’ So I did my job, got the Viet Cong soldier in my sights. But he wasn’t much more than a boy. He was alone, looked scared. I started to lower my rifle—no man wants to shoot a child. But just then our soldiers started to move, the first two stepped out to cross the creek, and I saw the boy pick up a flashlight and start to signal. I lifted my gun, took aim, and fired. It was part of my job to make sure I killed the mark, so I watched through my sights. He looked right at me, his eyes liquid brown and resigned. A red fountain poured down the side of his head, and then he fell…. Shit,” Kaholo said. “It’s hard talking about that, even after all this time.”

“Kaholo, you didn’t have to—”

“No, Sonny, I didn’t have to. But I thought maybe, if I told you how that tormented me for months—hell for years, off and on, maybe I can help you understand my nephew a little bit—maybe understand all he’s going through and all he’s putting you through.”

“Yes,” Sonny said, feeling overwhelmed.

“Luki and me, we’re not much the same, Sonny, except we’re both big Hawaiian dudes.” Kaholo laughed, and it gave Sonny permission to do the same. But then Kaholo continued. “And then, too, his heart’s as soft as mine, maybe softer. He told you about that guard, right? No more than a boy, green and scared and undoubtedly regretting signing on with Marcone’s bunch—though if his family owed loyalty he may have had no choice. A man can see all that, you know? When you look at your mark, if you have any experience of violence… of a soldier’s life, a cop’s life, Luki’s kind of life…. You can see that scared boy and you know him like he was your son or your brother.”

“Yes, and I’m thinking that’s like code, Sonny. It’s shorthand for everything he thinks he saw. Luki saw all that in a flash. And then he fired his gun and killed the kid.” Kaholo went silent for a moment, then, just when Sonny was going to try to figure what to say, the old man spoke up. “The thing is, Luki’s just the kind of man who’s going to have a hard time putting that aside, I think.”

“But Luki would have died!”

“He knows that!”

“Then I would have died! If Luki had died, I would be dead or as close to it as makes no difference!” Sonny lashed out with characteristic sudden anger, but Kaholo didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be, son. What you should do is try to let Luki know you feel that way, and then continue to be patient. You’re doing fine.”

TWO days later, Sonny hoped maybe a chance had come to try to talk to Luki, as Kaholo had suggested. He could hear Luki brushing his teeth—something he didn’t always do on days when he had no therapy appointment. It spurred Sonny to take a chance. “Luki,” he called through the bathroom door. “Honey?”

“I’m going to sit outside to drink my coffee. Shall I bring you a cup?” He waited. Nothing. “Will you join me?”

Nothing… two… three… four….

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Sonny’s knees nearly failed him right then and there. Could this be a turn of the tide? Could there be a flicker of hope? He had to fight his urge to wait right there by the door and make sure Luki came out, but he won that battle. “Okay,” he said, hoping he sounded casual. “I’ll see you out there, then. How many tons of sugar today?” That’s it, Sonny, make it normal, like nothing ever happened… but….

Luki was quiet. But then, like something magical was happening, he chuckled, and joked. “A half ton’s plenty, baby.”

So they sat together on the driftlog that had seen so many of their previous conversations, even their first fight. This time there was no gun, and no cigarettes, so that was a little different, but once again Luki was clad poorly in a pair of Sonny’s ill-fitting jeans, wrapped in a blanket, his chestnut curls swirled this way and that like the finger painting of some childish god. Sonny passed him his coffee. He drank, said, “It’s good.”

Sonny nodded, but found now he didn’t know what to say or do, or for that matter what not to say or do. He had too many hopes that had been lifted too high by this one little gift: Luki had come outside for coffee. How could Sonny speak without dashing it all to the ground? What could he say that would be safe?

“Sonny,” Luki said, just loud enough to be heard over the small sounds of the straits in endless motion and the light September breeze. Sonny looked at him with something close to alarm. Luki met his gaze—something he hardly ever did these days. Then he licked his lips and said a little louder, “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

Sonny was left speechless. Time went by, and ultimately Sonny did stretch around his fears and answer as expected. “I love you too, Luki. Lots.”

“I know that. When are you leaving?”

“What?”

“For Europe?”

“What?”

“Sonny, I’m crazy, not fucking deaf or blind.” Luki suddenly sounded angry, but what he said pissed Sonny off enough that he didn’t—for once—spare worry for Luki’s feelings.

“You’re not fucking crazy!”

“You only say that because you can’t get inside here!” Luki jabbed at his temple. “Maybe you can’t see it, but believe me, some crazy-ass shit’s going on in there.”

“Then why won’t you go to the psychiatrist, or the therapist? Why won’t you make even the slightest effort to fix whatever the fuck is wrong….” Sonny trailed off. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Luki gathered up his blanket and his coffee mug. “Don’t be,” he said again and trudged back toward the house.

As Luki walked away, kicking up small clouds of fine gray sand in the breeze, Sonny stripped and went to the water’s edge—his almost daily habit. But this time he stood staring at the watery September morning sun. “No,” he said and then shouted, “No! You fucker,” though he had no idea to whom the comment was addressed. “You’ve taken everyone I’ve ever loved from the time I was a little kid! You can’t do this!”

He waited.

He waited.

For what?

Oh fuck it, he thought and ran into the low rolling waves of the Juan de Fuca current.

WHAT the fuck is he doing? Luki had heard Sonny shout, though he couldn’t make out the words; and now he watched Sonny splash out through the shallows, reach the drop off, and sink below the surface. So far—except for what Luki could only think of as Sonny’s attitude—nothing alarming; he splashed out that far all the time. But it seemed like a longer than usual time before he came back up—and then he started swimming out into the channel! What common sense Luki could lay claim to in his compromised state told him that was not a place particularly safe for swimming—nor was this Sonny’s usual behavior.

It alarmed Luki and woke him up. He felt something big stir down deep in his soul; the sleeping paladin, the knight errant that the sharpest, most painful blade could not kill or cut away. And this was—

Sonny!

He dropped his mug and blanket on the grass and glanced around. Coiled a few feet away was a wrist-thick rope Sonny sometimes used to drag logs out of the forest with Melvern’s old truck. One end was secured to an equally thick chain, and Luki didn’t want to be burdened with that, so he grabbed up the machete that always waited just inside the mud porch and hacked through the rope with a few serious strokes. He hoisted the coil on his shoulder and started running toward the water. His vision clouded at first—not by tears, no. But it cleared as he ran, watery fog parting and then melting away. He concentrated on moving his feet as fast as he could, on not tripping on the broken, wild ground. When he could, he looked ahead with confused but clearing vision, watching Sonny move.

Sonny didn’t turn back toward shore. At one point, his head disappeared under the surface, and Luki shouted even though he knew Sonny couldn’t hear him. For the first time in weeks, Luki’s own miseries and confused regrets completely fled his mind. He thought only of Sonny, and of running to save his beloved husband’s life. But about the time Luki was knee-deep in the shallows, Sonny did indeed turn back on his own. He was swimming a little raggedly—not at all his usual graceful stroke—but he was headed toward shore.

Then he stopped—just stopped swimming. He tried to tread water—haphazardly, it seemed—for a couple of startling seconds, then went under. As that was happening, Luki became aware of his own painfully cold feet, and with that he realized all at once what was happening to Sonny. The water in the straits was cold, always. Sonny had a certain tolerance; he was in that water almost every day. But no one could tolerate being immersed in frigid water for very long. It took Luki but an instant to realize this, and he wanted to stop and panic, but the part of him that needed to keep Sonny safe had risen up from beneath the depression and mental fugue that had paralyzed him for weeks. St. Christopher!

In the next instant, Sonny surfaced, but he was already down current about thirty feet. While running in that direction down the beach, Luki observed—his professional training and habit falling into place. Sonny was still trying to swim, a good sign, but he spluttered and splashed. A sand bar jutted out into the straits not too far ahead. It wasn’t long enough for the current to dash Sonny onto it, but if Luki could get there before Sonny went by…. He waved and yelled, hoping to get Sonny’s attention, but he was already running out on the sand spit before Sonny saw him. Sonny was just about to float by, looking more exhausted now, shaking his head “no.” Just before the love of his life would have passed out of his reach—most likely forever—Luki tossed the rope and landed the knotted end almost on top of Sonny.

Probably by instinct, Sonny grabbed it, but then he let go.

“Hold on, Sonny!”

Sonny took it again, but his grip was so feeble Luki knew if he tugged, Sonny would lose his hold. “Sonny, please, baby. Grab on! I know you’re tired! I know you’re cold! But just hold on hard enough and I’ll do the rest. Just hold on!”

At first it wasn’t even clear if Sonny heard him, but he went for the rope, and he latched on hard this time, with two hands above the thick knots that had always been there for some reason Luki didn’t know.

“Ready?”

Sonny nodded, a stiff and exaggerated gesture Luki couldn’t miss.

Luki was already tired. Trying to fight that current with Sonny’s weight added to the wet rope took every ounce of rebuilt strength Luki had. He could feel his still tender thigh muscle straining, possibly tearing. He felt like his neck would snap. But he couldn’t let that matter. This was Sonny’s life. He had to get him safe. If he didn’t do that… unthinkable.

Once again it was a treat to visit Luki & Sonny. It would seem that misadventures are a plague on their lives; but that term would appear to be a misnomer as these happenings are rather less than minor and are full of suspense and intrigue. And of course this most recent one is no exception.
This time we have Miss Sylvre almost reversing their roles. Almost. Luki Vasquez starts out in this story full of self-doubt whereas Sonny James, although inwardly seriously questioning the wisdom of following through with his upcoming planned trip (a trait usually reserved for Luki) he plunders full force into it anyway.
Of course, per usual, Lou's descriptions allow the reader to fully experience each character's emotions while feeling as if you are actually present in each scene. And also present in this one, not unlike as in the others of this series, will be the biting of your lip in desperation to turn the page to learn what happens next; only to have this scenario repeated on the next page as well. Also, the love scenes in this book are just that, Love Scenes; full of sensual sensitivity and the obvious love of one partner for the other.
I wholeheartedly recommend this book with my 5 out of 5 stars and although this story will be a great read on its own, it will be a stupendously wonderful read if you first get an understanding of the most interesting lives of Sonny James & Luki Vasquez; that sequence would be: Loving Luki Vasquez, Delsyn's Blues, Finding Jackie, Yes, and of course Saving Sonny James. These can all be found (...) on Dreamspinner Press.

Loving Luki Vasquez hasn’t always been easy for Sonny Bly James, but it’s always been worth the risk to have given his heart to the man who’s made of ice but melts at the sight of a husband he treasures above all else. This time around, that love is put to the ultimate test in Saving Sonny James, a story that picks up several months after a dramatic rescue in Finding Jackie, and finds Luki waging a war and loosing his footing against an adversary that won’t blink, no matter how hard he stares it down–PTSD–brought on by a snap decision in a life or death situation that put one young man on the losing side of Luki’s gun.

Finding the means to cope with the memories and nightmares isn’t easy, nor does it help when those nightmares bleed into reality and cause Luki to very nearly do harm to the one man who anchors his soul to the world and is his reason for everything. It’s a challenge he must, and ultimately will, face alone, when Sonny leaves for Paris to pursue a career opportunity and gives Luki the time and space he needs to exorcise his demons.

Two pasts come back to the present in this installment of the series, one to do harm and one to help, when a psychopath with a head full of poison and an obsession with Sonny becomes determined to possess the one thing that has eluded him for years. With help from an unexpected ally, Luki combs the streets and undergrounds of Paris in search of his husband, who has gone missing. It’s a race against time and is the catalyst that finally propels Luki to slay his demon memories and focus everything he is on saving Sonny from a madman.

Fans of the Vasquez & James series will find plenty to love in this installment of the series, one that’s 99% romance, the rest a blend of action and suspense that has become an exclamation point on the life these men lead. With more than a few nail-biting moments, Luki has been given the chance once again to show why he’s earned the badass reputation that makes criminals sorry he was ever given license to wield a weapon. He’s not merely cool under pressure, he’s cold to the bone, and when it comes to the man he loves, anyone stupid enough to stand between Luki and his man gets what he deserves.

Lou Sylvre has always painted the love between Luki Vasquez and Sonny James as deeply soulful and reverent – the power of their genuine and transcendent love culminates beautifully in this satisfying and suspenseful story. ♥ This is book 4 in a highly character driven series – the stories must be read in order.

Ok, I already loved these two to distraction, but wow, Lou Sylvre truly takes that feeling up a few notches with this powerful, touching story. I experienced so many emotions while reading, everything from anger to love, heartache to joy. This included many “shouting at my e-reader” moments! As stated in the blurb, as the story opens, Luki is dealing with PTSD, triggered by his having killed a young guard during the rescue of his nephew. The author presents a marvelous depiction of a man who has always been known to everyone (including himself), as the consummate cold- as- ice bad ass, navigating through despair and emotional fragility, onlyl to emerge even stronger after facing his vulnerabilities. As someone who has grown to admire the strong and confident Luki, I found this scenario both heartbreaking and fascinating to witness.

This story is a profoundly captivating, instrospective view into Luki’s head and… into his heart. Luki’s heart is, undeniably, his husband Sonny. Ahh, sweet, beautiful, talented, patient, Sonny. (Of all of the book characters I have living in my head, Sonny is at the top of my list as being one I’d love to spend time with in reality.) Even Sonny’s considerable and steadfast love and support is not enough to pull Luki out of his tailspin. Reconnecting in the form of their sensual lovemaking helps spark a bit of a respite for Luki, however it soon becomes apparent that Luki actually feels Sonny’s closeness is a detriment (no, I will not spoiler why!). The two agree that Sonny should depart on a planned trip to France to lecture and conduct workshops on weaving, the art form that he is renowned for. Not to worry, during Sonny’s absence Luki enlists the company and wisdom of good friends and family, as well as a good dog Sonny, while realizing a dream in undertaking this trip, had been hoping that Luki would be able to travel with him, and is still hopeful Luki will be able to join him for part of the trip. Unfortunately Sonny realizes pretty quickly that maybe he should have gone over the travel arrangements more carefully. It comes to pass Sonny’s colleague from the past, and the man who planned Sonny’s travel itinerary, has long had designs on Sonny, and not of an artistic nature. Poor Sonny, it was as difficult watching him come to the dreaded awareness that he had misplaced his trust in a madman, and would possibly never be seeing Luki again, as it was to watch Luki struggling with the PTSD.

I want to commend the author on creating such compelling characters, and for weaving all of the plot points together seamlessly. Elements from Luki and Sonny’s histories were brought to the present in latent and fluid, evil and heroic manifestations. I loved the significance they all represented. Luki’s conflicted emotions were palpable as his inner strength battled to defeat the PTSD, and as he came to terms with the realization that Sonny was probably in real danger in France. I could feel Sonny’s helplessness and bravery, both in loving his husband no matter the presence of Luki’s demons, and in facing the human demon he later became confronted with. It was very gratifying to me that there was no miraculous “the love of my life needs me” cure for Luki. Rather, he worked hard at facing his issues and had significantly conquered them before heading off to save Sonny. In fact, Luki had been feeling felt well enough to consider joining Sonny before even coming to realize that the silence from Sonny was insidious, and not due to time differences and techno glitches. As Luki devised a plan to save Sonny, we witnessed the new and improved version of his bad ass self at work. I like it. A like it a lot. Sonny does too.

As usual I have left out major spoilers – this story is definitely one to savor and experience as it unfolds. The plotting is clever and engaging. It starts out with intense emotional introspection and builds to tantalizing suspense. Surprises come out of left field and serve only to enhance the overall appeal. The love between Luki and Sonny is so profound as to transcend words. It melts me. They melt me. Thank you Lou Sylvre for these beautiful men, and their exceptional love. More please

About the Author

Lou Sylvre loves romance with all its ups and downs, and likes to conjure it into books. The sweethearts on her pages are men who end up loving each other—and usually saving each other from unspeakable danger. It’s all pretty crazy and often very, very sexy. How cool is that? She loves to hear from readers on her blog, Facebook or Twitter, or via e-mail.

As if you'd want to know more, she’ll happily tell you that she is a proudly bisexual woman, a mother, grandmother, lover of languages, and cat-herder. She works closely with lead cat and writing assistant, the (male) Queen of Budapest, Boudreau St. Clair. When he lets her have a break, she drinks strong coffee, plays guitar, practices Reiki, communes with crystals, grows flowers, walks a lot, and reads. Besides books and music, she loves friends and family, wild places, wild roses, sunshine, and dark chocolate.